The hospitaleros at the albergue in Miraz were volunteers. The woman, Neva from England, had come for two weeks every summer for the last 7 years. The man, Jim from Canada, was on his first go round, after 7 times walking the various Camino routes. We told them of our 'problem': having an extra day. They said that they were going to a town called Parga for the market. They suggested we come along, visit the market, a 12 century castle, and spend the night in a pension there. We could get a cab back to Miraz on Monday morning and be on our way walking to Santiago. It sounded better than any idea we had cooked up.
We arose in the morning with the rest of the peregrinos. We said goodbye to some friends, including Stephan, the Polish professor we have seen over the last 5 or so days. We also said goodbye to a young Madrid couple we have walked with for only 2 days. The fella had a hurt knee and I offered him some cream I've been using and we struck up a bit of a relationship. Seeing he and his girl friend, so young and affectionate, so passionate, reminded me of my children and the gift such a trip would be for them. They also reminded me of the joy of affection with my wife. I took their picture and told them how watching them together gave me joy. They seemed genuinely pleased. It is part of the Camino that I love--simple fellowship between strangers. I realize that the situation is unlike any other and our fellowship is in part a product of its short life span. Nonetheless our shared participation in the journey to Santiago does indeed bind us into a community different than any other I've ever been a part of.
We said goodbye and then, since the taxi to Parga would not come until 10:30, we helped the hospitaleros with chores. We changed sheets on beds, and our main task was to trim a hedge that was beginning to encroach on space for a clothes line (every night the clothes lines are full--you only carry 2 or 3 days of clothes, so you launder daily).
As chores were done we sat and talked. Neva was in her 70s and had walked Camino Norte once 10 years ago. She divorced her husband of 43 years soon after--Yikes, don't worry hon. She made clear at dinner the night before that she was almost militantly anti-church and clergy. Yet she had served, at her own expense, as a nurse on various trips for the ill and invalids. She said she felt she 'owed' it for her long and happy career in nursing. Like so many others I've meet, orthodox religion was just not part of their world, yet their participation in the Camino was not merely because it was a good and offbeat way to spend a holiday. Their questions were not exactly the same as mine, but the profundity of their quest put to shame the easy versions of Christianity or secular humanism I've encountered so often back home. Indeed, I've met plenty of folk here whose quest for something deeper and more meaningful in and with their lives will challenge me long after I've returned to the States. We simply don't, where ever we are, have to settle for what is set before us by accidents of birth, situation, and circumstance.
So the taxi delivers us to a small town crowded with people. The Parga market is on every 4th Sunday. You can buy jeans, junk, jewelery, produce, pigs, goats, bread, tools and hats. You name it, you can buy it. There is also food everywhere: grilled meats, homemade cheeses, churos (fried dough-Spanish elephant ears), and octopus. The Galicians love their octopus, and so do I. The octopus is cooked in large kettles of water. When you order, they use a hook to bring one, cut off two or three legs, slice them onto wooden plate, dress it with olive oil and paprika, and rush it to your table (rank after rank of them under awnings). Some folk purchase a whole octopus to go and have it poured into a plastic bag to carry home.
What a great day. We wandered the market. Got stares from everyone. We are the only men in shorts. Since I lost my good sandals in the Basque country, my non-boot foot wear are a pair of cheap chinese bath flops. To add to the aura of 'cool', I wear them with socks. Pete wears a large hat, and we both don't know much Spanish and photo everything.
The market starts packing up at 2:00, so we walked up to a hill overlooking the town. There is a 'stronghold' built on foundations a rich Roman had set in place before the time of Jesus. There was also a church built in the 12th century. Not much like that back home eh? I wonder how the people who live in the house now, or worship in the church are shaped by that history?
What a day of rest and refreshment. We will get a taxi at 7:30 in the morning. We'll head back to Miraz to begin a 25K day in the final week, the 6th week on the Way. Buen Camino.
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